Son of a Warlord
by slashedwrists
Summary: theres no Klitch fics out there damn! *sniffle* so I wrote one! ^_^ Klitch didn't drink the poison and heads back the the southlands to become a warlord r&r plz!
1. Angst Trip

Klitch had escaped Salamandastron and was making his way southward. It was dark and he had no idea where he was going. But being the arrogant creature he was he didn't admit it and reassured himself he was on the right track.  
  
He had been only a whelp when his father had lead his Corpsemakers from the Southlands in search for conquest. Klitch hadn't been home in seasons. So long he could barely remember what his home was like. Klitch thought it must be something grand like a castle fit for only the greatest of warlords.  
  
Klitch wondered if his mother would recognize him after so many seasons past. He was a few seasons away from maturity and he been but a babe when his father had taken him away with him. Maybe she was dead, he thought, or had taken a new mate.  
  
Klitch wondered if he would find a mate when he got there or maybe he was betrothed. Such was sometimes a custom for the son of a warlord. Klitch hoped not for he wanted too choose his own female. Not that all the females wouldn't be all over him. He was quite the handsome beast like his father had been.  
  
Maybe he would two or three mates.  
  
One such as him could never have enough females to fawn over him. Like his father had once told him, his father having many mates but his mother being his favorite. Maybe Klitch would find that special female in his life. Not that his mother had been the right one for father who barely noticed her existence just like the way he treated every other female. Maybe he had loved her but never showed it.  
  
Maybe he had loved Klitch but he had never showed that either. Maybe deep down Klitch loved him back but being so much like him, had never told him. Warlords never expressed their emotions whether it was to their wife or son and daughter. It was thought to be a sign of weakness.  
  
Maybe when Klitch became a warlord he would be cold and unfeeling. Showing only hate and spite and contempt. But then again, Klitch had always been to free spirited to feel nothing and was a rebellious creature. Klitch decided when he became warlord of the Southlands he would make his own rules.  
  
Maybe he was too late and somebeast had already taken his place. Klitch swore whomever beast that dared to claim his place, as tyrant would die a slow and painful death at his paws. Klitch what was to do when became as such. Would he rule the Southlands with an iron paw or seek conquest and leave to take over other lands like his father had.  
  
Heh, his father.  
  
Look what had happened to him.  
  
Defeated by a mere stripehound and his bunch of pet rabbits. Klitch swore that nobeast would ever stop him for conquering what he wished too. His father had always been a fool anyway. He had been too old and senile and should of given Klitch leadership of the horde. If that had been so they would have been ruling Salamandastron to this day.  
  
But no, his pride had always been too strong to give into his wet-behind- the-ears pup of a son to given him command.  
  
Hah, look what it had gotten him.  
  
Klitch hoped he was cursing Klitch's name in Hellgates. He hated his father so. He had never good enough for him. So hard he had tried to make him proud of him. He had pushed Klitch to rebel against him. Klitch sometimes thought he had preferred it that way. If had just been a father to him, once just once, Klitch would of been happy.  
  
But no, Klitch promised he would do that his son no matter how much a disappointment he turned out to be. And there would be no other warlord like Klitch would be.  
  
Never.  
  
He would show his father of what he was able. He would the greatest warlord of all time. His childish fantasies would be become a reality. Pity on whoever stupidbeast tried to stop him.  
  
Klitch clenched his paw and set off determinedly in the direction of what he hoped was south. 


	2. Droplets of a Sparkling Pool rather poet...

Klitch had reached the outskirts of the Southwest Lands. His tracking skills, as minor as they were, had paid off and put him on the right track. His home was a beautiful paradise of lush greenery and sparkling streams. He had long forgotten the splendor of it all. He wondered why in hell his father had wanted to leave.  
  
Klitch was bloody and dirty, his fine clothes were ripped and torn and he numerous cuts and bruises all over the place.  
  
But he was finally home.  
  
Klitch decided to wash up in a nearby pool to look presentable when reached the castle looming in the distance, as tall as the mountains behind it. So he had been right about his home being a grand estate. He smiled. Somehow he was always right.  
  
Klitch dipped his footpaws in the cool water as he washed the blood and dirt from his yellow jerkin. The water was so clear you could see the trout swimming in it. Klitch was starving for had not eaten much in days. He dived into the stream for both a bath and a meal.  
  
Klitch found he wasn't very good at catching fish. They were too quick for him and when he did catch one, it was so slippery it jumped out of his paws.  
  
But Klitch was a resourceful and intelligent, young creature. He managed to spike a few with his dagger. It was like pinning big insects.  
  
Klitch put the three or so trout on the band where would clean and gut them later. Then he relaxed by floating in the pool. The water did his wounds well. He closed his eyes, basking in the warm sunlight.  
  
There was a waterfall on the other side of the pool. Klitch swam over to it. He could use it as a waterslide for fun. He scaled the rocks to the top of it and sat down. Klitch let out a whoop of joy as the strong current pushed him off the waterfall and into the stream below with a splash. He went right down to the bottom and kicked off from it. He broke the surface, panting and choking on the water he had swallowed as he had come up.  
  
Klitch did this several times before sitting on the rocks letting the waterfall wash over his back. His back had the most wounds and three claw marks that had become long scars. Klitch groaned as he rubbed his stiff neck.  
  
A stifled giggle rang out above the sound of the waterfall crashing over the rocks.  
  
Klitch stiffened. He slowly rose and looked about for the culprit. He swore it had come from the waterfall. He reached in and waved his paw through the falling water, expecting his claws to scrap against stone.  
  
But Klitch touched nothing but water. There was a cave behind the waterfall and there was somebeast in there.  
  
Klitch didn't have his dagger with him. He had left it stuck in a fish all the way across the pool. But he could still threaten however was in there. He was quite intimidating.  
  
'Come out now!' Klitch growled. 'I don't take kindly to beasts laughing at me.'  
  
Klitch's jaw dropped as the prettiest female weasel he had ever seen emerged from the waterfall. 


	3. Droplets of a Sparkling Pool continued

Klitch gaped at the female before him. She had dark chocolate fur, her eyes a shade lighter than that with dark red lips. She wore a soaking wet black dress that clung tightly to her lean and fit body. The waterfall behind her and the droplets of water cascading over her fur making her even more heavenly. She twisted strands of dark headfur around her claw as she stared at him just as transfixed as he was with her.  
  
She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  
  
The weaselmaid averted his gaze and looked down. Klitch kept staring dumbly not noticing his mouth hanging open.  
  
There was an awkward silence between the two vermin adolescents.  
  
She brought her head back up to say simply,  
  
'Hello.' She had a bittersweet voice that sounded sophisticated yet naive at the same time.  
  
'Hello.' He smiled at her with the charm he had inherited from his father. His blue eyes dancing wildly.  
  
The weaselmaid gathered up her skirts and without saying anything further, she walked past him and off into woods.  
  
Klitch watched her go.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
What an odd female.  
  
He swam across the pool and lay on the bank next to the pile of fish. They smelt from being left in the sun and had flies swarming all over them. Klitch pulled his dagger from the fish he had stuck it in and left them to rot.  
  
He washed the fishy stench from his dagger in the water and went over to the tree branch where he had left his jerkin and cap to dry off. He got dressed and checked his reflection in the pool.  
  
Then he set off in the direction the weaselmaid had gone. 


End file.
